


Familiarity

by Laelior



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Just Kiss Already You Idiots, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, gratuitous snark, high speed chase action, kanan is bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 17:06:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14359824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laelior/pseuds/Laelior
Summary: It was dangerous, this business of getting close. Kanan's entire adult life was based on avoiding it. This arrangement he had with Hera, gallivanting around the edges of the Empire and trying to help people, it had an expiration date. One that would probably come soon. It always did, right when he got too cozy, and there was no point in sticking around past it.He was ready to move on, but not before agreeing to do this one last job with Hera.





	Familiarity

**Author's Note:**

> Kanan developed a lot between _A New Dawn_ and “Spark of Rebellion,” but it didn’t happen overnight. It probably took him a while to get used to the rebellion life, and this is my take on part of it.

 

_ Just one more job, then I’m out _ , Kanan swore to himself, picking his way through half-empty city streets. In the mid-afternoon lull, there were only a few people out and about. Mostly vendors setting up for the commercial rush of the evening shift change. An Ithorian setting up a street food cart eyed him half-hopefully, half-warily as he went by. The alien’s shoulders slumped when he passed by without stopping.

He’d hated Eriadu before even setting foot on it, and wandering through its capital city he didn’t think his loathing could go any deeper. It felt cold, grey, wrong. And to say he had a bad feeling about coming to a world with such a strong Imperial presence was an understatement. The section of the city he was in was far enough away from the hub of Imperial activity near the main spaceport that there were only a few scattered patrols here and there. It was still enough to set his teeth on edge. It went against nearly a decade’s worth of instincts to get  _ closer _ to the platoons of well-armed idiots who would erase him from existence without a second thought.

But  _ she _ ’d insisted on coming here to chase down a lead. 

_ “So the Empire’s increased lommite shipments. Why is this such a big deal?” He’d asked, scowling at the star map she’d brought up for him like it was somehow responsible for the knot in the pit of his stomach. _

_ “It’s not just lommite,” she countered. “It’s meleenium, carbon, carvanium…. Materials used in—” _

_ “Transparisteel and durasteel, I know.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s just meat for the Imperial beast. They’re kicking up production into overdrive in all sectors. I don’t see why you need to check it out.” _

_ “If we can track the shipments, we can find out where their factories are.” She tapped on the planet Eriadu on the map, a dim yellow dot crossed by two blue lines: the Hydian Way and the Rimma Trade Route, two of the biggest hyperspace lanes in the Outer Rim. _

_ “And this ‘contact’ can help.” He asked pointedly, getting to the heart of the argument. _

_ “If he is who he says he is, then yes.” Hera met his gaze calmly. _

_ “I don’t like this.” _

_ “I’m shocked to hear you say that.” She rolled her eyes, and Kanan had to fight the urge to smile. The longer she talked with him, the more sarcastic she got. It was hard not to feel a sense of pride in that. _

_ “How do you know this…” Kanan checked the name on the display next to the star map, “...this Delvin Crale has anything worth risking your neck for?” _

_ “He gave us good intel on the Dorvalla mines, and he says he has more if we help him get off of Eriadu,” Hera pointed out. _

_ Before Kanan could say anything, Chopper cut in with some pointed words, jabbing his utility arms in Hera’s direction.  _

_ “See? Chopper agrees with me.” For once, he was grateful to have the irritating little scrap pile along. _

_ “We need this, Kanan,” She said, her eyes looking up at him and all traces of sarcasm gone beneath her quiet sincerity. _

_ He couldn’t help but ask, “Who’s  _ we _?” _

It devolved from there into a more familiar argument, the same one they’d been having for months now. Hera got her information from some sort of underground whisper network. He didn’t know the specifics of it and didn’t  _ want _ to know. But he couldn't get comfortable with the idea of being at the mercy of a nameless, faceless, and nebulous collective of informants.

In the end, he’d agreed to the mission, but only if he had some say in planning it. Even she had agreed his suggestions weren’t bad.

There was only room for one  _ she _ in his vocabulary these days, he reflected. It was dangerous, this business of getting close. His entire adult life was based on avoiding it. This arrangement he had with Hera, gallivanting around the edges of the Empire and trying to help people, it had an expiration date. One that would probably come soon. It always did, right when he got too cozy, and there was no point in sticking around past it. He’d been running with her for nearly seven months, longer than he’d run with anyone since….

Well, since Janus Kasmir, now that he thought about it. 

Now there was a ghost from the past he wasn’t eager to revisit. He shook the specter from his thoughts and pulled up his sleeve to consult the rough map of Eriadu City he’d tucked in his sleeve. He should be close to his destination. Just another half-klick down the street.

A Star Destroyer hovered overhead like a great, grey, unnatural cloud, casting a wide shadow over the city. The damn thing made his shoulders itch like it had a laser target painted on his, and  _ only _ his, back. It made him want to walk faster. The sooner he could get out from under that menacing shade, the better.

Across the street, a pack of teenagers huddled around a street corner trading stims amongst themselves with all the subtlety of a rampaging Wookiee. They stopped abruptly and stood with their hands clasped nervously behind their backs when the sound of heavy boots echoed down the street. Stormtroopers. 

Kanan shoved his hands in his pockets and forced them to stay there. He kept walking. There was no reason they’d be looking for him. He was dressed in the grey coveralls of a longshoreman, a bulky garment that helped him blend in and conveniently concealed the comforting weight of the DL-18 on his right hip. 

Two stormtroopers, their white and polished armor an eyesore in these grey streets, marched along in a staccato rhythm. They marched right by him like they couldn’t even see him. Kanan let out the breath he barely realized he’d been holding. Gradually, their footsteps faded off into the distance. Good. He blended in enough to be beneath notice. 

He found what he was looking for soon after that. Paint chipped off the sides of the building, and there were large gouges in the plaster that looked like they’d been hastily patched up and painted over in a color that didn’t quite match the rest. An aurabesh sign in front read “Randi’s Cantina” where it wasn’t covered in graffiti. This was definitely the place. Kanan nodded to himself and pressed the emitter on his comlink.

“I’m here, Chop. I’m gonna go in and scope it. Tell Hera to wait for my signal.”

The droid on the other side of the link grunted in acknowledgment, then closed the link without further comment. 

“Mouthy junk heap,” he muttered. Far from the gratefulness he’d felt earlier, he was right back to wanting to scrap the droid. If it were up to him, they wouldn’t be using Chopper as a go-between for secure communications. They needed a better scheme. But it was on the list of “to-dos” that Kanan wasn’t going to stick around to see done.

The bar’s hazy air held the familiar scents of cheap booze and despair, but the counter appeared  _ mostly _ free of bodily fluids. That put this den a few steps above the kinds of bars Kanan was used to. Serving droids rolled around on the gritty floors, mutely carrying drinks from table to table while a waitress went around taking orders. Most of the seating was clustered around the bar and a couple of sabacc tables, but there were a few dimly-lit booths off to one side.

Kanan’s eyes roamed over the patrons. There weren’t too many customers this time of day. Most of them wore gray longshoreman coveralls like his. A few had the look of spacers taking in some local atmosphere while in port. There were two humans with buzzcuts and oddly pale faces that he’d bet the whole moon of Cynda were off-duty stormtroopers. They kept their heads down, appearing to only be interested in their game of sabacc with a Twi’lek woman, but they were worth keeping an eye on.

The Mirialan bartender had a long scar down one cheek, an eyepatch, and a rough look about her that Kanan took an instant liking to. She paused in wiping down glasses to give him a cool, appraising look, and slid a coaster across the bar to him.

“You look new. What’ll you have?”

“Whatever’s on tap,” he said. She filled up a glass with an amber-colored liquid and slid it over to him. He nodded his thanks and took a large gulp. It was cold, bitter, and about as cheap as he expected from a place like this. 

Another quick survey of the cantina told him that there were just two exits: the main one he’d come through and a back door by the booth seating. Good to know. Now he just needed to identity which one of the customer’s was Hera’s contact, Delvin Crale. It didn’t take long. A human man wearing a hooded poncho hurried into the bar and made straight for the booth nearest the back door, nearly tripping over a serving droid in the process. 

This Crale didn’t seem too bright, or at least very inexperienced at being inconspicuous. Kanan snorted into his beer, watching him fumble his way through ordering a drink from the waitress.

He tapped on his comlink twice, sending a duo of quick static bursts over the link.  _ Once for wait, twice for all-clear _ . That was what they’d agreed on before this run on his insistence. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of that near-miss on the Ring of Kafrene. 

Hera came in the street-side door a few minutes later. She scanned the room until she caught sight of him. He tilted his head toward the booth. She got the signal and threaded her way through the bar with ease, like she was just there for a casual drink.

Kanan narrowed his eyes at the two off-duty stormtroopers, who looked up from their game to admire her. Then he heard a man sitting a few seats away murmur, “Not bad for a tail-head.”

He wasn’t thinking about using the mystical energy of the Universe to make the man’s drink explode in his face, but he wasn’t  _ not _ thinking about it, either. He settled for a good, internal glare. No one talked about Hera like that. Except maybe him. And even then with respect. Even in her baggy flight suit and headset, she always managed to turn heads wherever she went. Kanan couldn’t blame anyone for that. He’d even seen her use it to her advantage a time or two. But talking about her like she was just a pair of lekku….

Kanan laughed to himself. She could speak for herself plenty well, and defend herself more than adequately. If there was one thing he’d learned these past months, it was that she didn’t need him starting fights on her behalf.

Hera and Crale settled into what looked like an intense conversation. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Crale’s animated gestures along with Hera’s head-tilted, quizzical look told him it wasn’t going as smoothly as she’d hoped.

His comlink suddenly  _ beeped _ to life and Chopper’s grumpy voice came through, demanding to talk to Hera. Kanan ducked his head down and spoke quietly into the link.

“Hera’s busy but I’ve got eyes on her. What’s so important?”

Chopper told him in three clipped, binary sentences.

“Ah, spast,” he muttered to himself. “Okay. Warm up the Phantom. I’ll go and tell her.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the off-duty stormtroopers listening to their comlinks. One of them went up to the bar to settle their tab and the other left.  _ Damn _ .

Kanan finished his beer and set the glass back down on the counter along with some credits to cover it, then made his way to Hera’s booth.

“This is a private conversation,” Crale snapped at him as he approached. He was an older man, with graying hair and a complexion that looked like he didn’t get outside much, wearing the sort of nice but non-descript clothes common to mid-level government officials. Kanan glanced at Hera.

“Are all your friends this charming?” He asked, sliding into the booth next to her. Crale clutched at his mostly-full beer glass, his face turning red.

“You mean, like you?” She moved to make room for him, then turned to Crale. “He’s a friend,” she explained. “A friend who’d better have good reason for interrupting.”

“Chopper just radioed. Seems your new friend’s wanted by the Imps.” He gestured at Crale with his thumb.

All the color drained from Crale’s face. “I want to get out. I’ve...been passing things along. I didn’t think they’d catch on so fast,” he said in a harsh whisper.

“Sound like you didn’t cover your tracks,” Kanan drawled. Hera nudged him, a clear signal saying,  _ now is not the time for that _ . “Word’s out on the Imperial frequencies that you’re here, and they’re sending a squad to pick you up.”

Somehow, Crale got even paler. He looked between Kanan and Hera with calculating, beady eyes. But Hera was one step ahead of him.

“You said you had a datacube with all the ore shipment information going through this sector in the past standard month,” she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I think we can work something out.”

Crale sat up straight and set his beer on the table, appearing to come to some sort of resolution.

“You get them off my tail, help me get off world, I’ll give you everything I have,” he said. Beads of sweat were gathering on his brow. And despite his outward attempt at bravado, Kanan caught a glimpse of his hand shaking underneath the table. The Impies really  _ were _ after him. But that didn’t necessarily make him worth the potential trouble.

“How do we know you even have the intel you promised?” Kanan asked, giving voice to his suspicions.

“You don’t. But you get nothing either way if they catch me.” There was an air of desperation to the man so thick Kanan could practically smell it, but he held his back up straight and looked the both of them straight in the eye. Kanan felt a grudging sense of respect forming for him.

“If they’re really after him, he might have something they don’t want getting out,” Hera pointed out. She was probably right, but Kanan wasn’t prepared to admit it yet.

He looked between Crale and Hera. Hera looked thoughtful.  _ She can’t seriously be considering this, can she? _ But he knew she was, without her having to say anything. He groaned inwardly. Stars save him from the idealists of the galaxy. 

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll create a distraction. Wait until you hear blaster fire, then head out the alley-side door.”

Crale eyed him with obvious suspicion. “That’s it? Just wait for the blaster fire?”

“Yup. That’s it.” Kanan gave him his best wolfish grin, then got up from the booth.

“He’s good at attracting blaster fire,” Hera put in dryly with one of those crooked smiles that never failed to tie his stomach in knots.

“Gotta earn my keep somehow.”

Hera put a hand on his upper arm and looked up at him. She bit her lip, the only outward sign he could see of any nervousness. She looked like she was on the verge of saying something. Then she just nodded at him. “Good luck.”

“I’m probably gonna need it.” He took a long drink of Crale’s beer, ignoring the other man’s objection, then walked to the alley-side door. Pausing for a moment, he rolled his shoulders forward and few times, cracked his knuckles, and then purposefully relaxed his joints and stumbled through the door.

“Halt! Or we’ll shoot!” Six E-11 blaster barrels were pointed right at him. Kanan didn’t entirely have to feign panic as he put his hands up in the air. At this close of a range, even these bucketheads had a chance of hitting him.

“Ish thish the bathroom?” He asked, deliberately slurring his words. One of the troopers shined a light directly at his face. He blinked and turned his head away from it.

“Hold still,” the trooper said firmly. “Is this him, ma’am?”

A black-uniformed officer stepped forward to get a good look at him and shook her head. “No, just some drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. You... _ you’re  _ drunk,” Kanan protested, swaying unsteadily on his feet. That drew laughs from a few of the troopers, but the officer rolled her eyes.

“Get out of my sight and stay clear of this area.” The trooper with the light turned it off and the rest of them parted to let him pass. Kanan heard the officer mutter as he stumbled past her, “The last thing we need is inebriated civilians in the line of fire. The paperwork alone….”

Once he safely made it out of the alley and past a couple of Imperial speeder bikes parked at the corner of the sidestreet, he abandoned the stumbling walk and circled back to the front of the cantina. He counted a good dozen troopers on foot, another officer, and five on speeder bikes to chase after any runners. He quietly whistled in appreciation. All this for one deserter? Crale must have had some good intel to merit this kind of response.

But somewhere out there an Imperial drill instructor had to be crying. All of the troopers were focused on the cantina door, getting ready to barge in, and not looking down the street. More importantly, they weren't looking at him. He reached through his coverall pocket and drew out his blaster. He lined up his shot. Crale wanted a distraction? He’d  _ give _ him a distraction.

The moment he squeezed the trigger, it was pure mayhem. The blaster bolt hit the back of one of the speeders, causing it to careen forward into the next one. To judge by the explosion of brilliant orange fire that bloomed up in front of the cantina, it must have impacted the fuel tank. Stormtroopers shrieked and dove for cover, while some shot blindly in both directions in a panic.

Kanan ducked behind some trash cans in front of a nearby shop. Three troopers and the officer from the alley half-ran, half-marched down the side street and onto the main street. Good. That left only a few by the back door. He holstered his blaster and ran back into the alley, waving his arms around above his head. The remaining three troopers raised their weapons at him, then relaxed as they recognized him as the harmless drunk.

“Did...did you see that? There was an explosion!” Kanan gestured wildly at the street where gray smoke was curling up and over the roofs of the buildings.

The troopers looked at each other. One of them put down his weapon. “We have it under control, citizen. Leave the area.”

“I think someone might’ve gotten hurt!” Kanan exclaimed with his best impression of wild-eyed sincerity. He moved closed to the troopers. “You’ve gotta help them!”

“Leave the premises. We’re not going to ask you again,” the trooper said sternly. All three trained their blasters on him.

The alley-side door of the cantina nudged open, and Kanan saw Hera’s green eyes peeking through. He had to get closer. 

“But I...I think I’m gonna be sick.” Kanan lurched forward, clutching his stomach. The nearest trooper took a wide step back, almost running into the door. 

Hera kicked the door open, slamming it into the trooper and sending him stumbling to the ground. The next nearest trooper turned toward the door and raised his blaster, but Kanan was already on him, striking his elbow against the back of the trooper’s neck. He hit in the gap in his armor just below the helmet and his opponent crumpled to the ground in a heap with a cry of pain.

Kanan heard footsteps and turned to see that the last trooper was fleeing. He pulled out his blaster and took two shots at the fleeing target. One hit him square in the back and he went down. Kanan heard the sharp sound of blaster fire behind him and turned to see Hera competently finishing off the stormtrooper she’d hit with the door with her small holdout blaster. Now  _ there _ was a sight to warm a man’s heart.

Crale peered out of the door, fat trails of sweat making their way down his face. He gaped at the three fallen stormtroopers.

“You….” he gasped.

“Us,” Kanan agreed. Hera grabbed Crale by the sleeve and pulled him into the alley. “But there’s no time for sightseeing. They’ll figure out what happened here soon enough.”

“Agreed. We need to get out of here,” Hera said.

Kanan took the lead and poked his head out into the side street. The Imperials still seemed to be dealing with the chaos of the explosion he’d caused. He gestured at Hera to come closer.

“How are you with Imperial bikes?” He asked. She followed his gaze to the two speeder bikes he’d noticed earlier.

“It’s not the  _ Ghost _ , but I think I can make something work,” she said, a wry smile forming on her lips. He didn’t think there was a flight-capable machine in the galaxy she  _ couldn’ _ t make work. “Crale, you’re with me,” she beckoned him over. “Kanan—”

“I’ll draw their fire and meet you at the  _ Phantom _ ,” he interrupted, knowing exactly where this was going. Like she’d said, he was good at attracting blaster fire. Whether he wanted to or not, it seemed. He pulled up his sleeve to consult his map.

“I can drive a speeder.” Crale gave her a weak smile and climbed on to one of the bikes. “I haven’t always piloted a desk, and I know my way around the city.” 

“Hey—” Kanan started, but then Hera put a hand on his arm. The argument he’d wanted to make died with a simple shake of her head.

“That can work. Rest of the plan’s still the same. We’ll draw fire,” she said, getting on the other bike. Kanan got on behind her and took hold of the passenger grip. “Meet us out by the old commercial spaceport.”

“The commercial spaceport? Hardly anyone uses that anymore. The Empire restricts landing permits there.” Crale gave them a dubious look. 

“We’ve got a few tricks up our sleeves,” Hera said, and Kanan thought he detected a hint of smugness. “Now go!”

Crale nodded, and then took off. Hera waited for a full minute, until it was clear that no one had yet started looking for Crale in the confusion, then she pulled her goggles down over her eyes and started the bike up.

“Hey! They’re stealing a speeder! After them!” One of the troopers ran down the street toward them, brandishing a blaster.

“I guess that’s a start,” Hera observed. She pushed out into the street and started pulling away.

Kanan turned and fired off a few shots at the Imperials. There. He’d gone and poked the hive with a stick. Sooner or later they’d notice the other speeder, the one Crale took, was also missing. But if he and Hera could keep them occupied long enough to give the informant a good lead, they’d have done their jobs. And sure enough, all of them seemed to be aware of the two of them now. He saw troopers scrambling for weapons and turning in their direction.

“Think they’ve noticed us?” Hera asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled. Orange-red blaster bolts flew past them, none of them quite close enough to be of concern. “I think they’re still half-asleep, if their aim is anything to go by.”

Hera snorted. “Then let’s wake them up, shall we?” She turned the bike around. Toward the troopers. Kanan gulped, and his fingers flexed around the passenger grip involuntarily. 

“Hera….”

“Hang on!” She hit the accelerator  _ hard _ . The troopers barely had time to jump out of the way to avoid getting knocked over. She dodged through the chaotic scene he’d caused earlier, weaving around stunned troopers and the wreckage of the exploded fuel cells. At least three bikes seemed mostly intact. Kanan fired at them as they went by, but he couldn’t see if he hit anything.

“Stupid stunts are normally  _ my _ job,” he shouted, and if his voice shook a little she didn’t seem to notice it.

“I guess you’re rubbing off on me.” She turned, and he caught a hint of a smirk. The wind whipped around Hera’s lekku as they cruised along, making the light whorls on them seem to dance. Somewhere behind him he heard the clatter of boots on pavement as the Imperials collected themselves and re-grouped. He kept one hand on the grip and the other on his blaster, ready to fire if necessary.

“I told Chopper to get the Phantom warmed up. He should be good to go when we get there.” He leaned forward so she could hear him. He didn’t know how she heard with those earphones on all the time, especially in conditions like these, but she nodded to show she understood him just fine.

“You know, I was thinking we should have comlink callsigns,” Hera said, expertly guiding the speeder around a half-set up food cart.

“What’s this  _ we _ business?” A fresh barrage of blaster fire narrowly missed hitting the bike’s tail fins. Kanan turned his head to look behind them. Three stormtroopers were chasing after them on foot firing as they went, and two were hopping on the remaining speeder bikes. The ones on foot were non-factors. With Hera at the controls, they’d be out of firing range in no time. The speeders posed more of an issue.

“Right, I forgot you were only planning on staying on through the next job.” Hera calmly sped down the city street, barely seeming to notice the blaster bolts hurling through the air. He’d seen her do this before, usually when piloting the  _ Ghost _ . The tighter the situation, the more she relaxed and reacted on well-honed instincts. He’d never met someone more born to fly than her.

“Uh-huh.” Kanan maintained his focus on the pursuing troopers, completely trusting Hera to safely navigate the maze of streets, alleys, and civilians who lacked the common sense to duck inside the nearest buildings.

“Five jobs ago,” she added. One of the bike troopers was starting to catch up to them, and this one had good aim for a buckethead—a bolt whizzed by his shoulder so closely it almost singed him.

“Less talking, more dodging, okay?”

She banked sharply to the right, almost throwing him off the speeder, and sped up even more. He threw an arm around her waist to stabilize himself and stay anchored on the bike.

“A little  _ too _ much dodging there.”

The wind whipped by them too fast for him to hear very well, but he was close enough to her—so very, very close—to feel her shoulders shake in silent laughter. She maneuvered the bike around a narrow corner, just missing the brick facade of one of the buildings. 

The pursuing bikes followed them. One of them wasn’t so lucky. He turned too wide, and his bike slammed into the sidewall of a shop. Kanan nodded to himself. 

“One down, one to go.” The troopers on foot were out of sight now and unlikely to catch up. Unfortunately, that left the more competent trooper to deal with. Kanan fired off two shots, but the trooper hunched forward and maneuvered his bike closer to the ground so they sailed over him. “Figures we had to get the one with half a brain,” he muttered to himself in his disgruntlement.

Kanan felt, rather than saw, the next blaster bolt coming. He reacted without thinking, trying not to listen to the sudden roar of fear in his ear. Still facing back toward the pursuing trooper, he reached behind him and grabbed Hera’s shoulder and pushed, twisting her torso forward so that the bolt just grazed her upper arm. The smell of singed fabric and flesh filled his nostrils. He felt her shoulders tense in pain, but heard nothing. A quick glance at her told him she was bearing through it, keeping her mind on piloting the speeder with a single-minded focus that would have made any Jedi Master proud.

Taking a cue from her, he re-focused on the last stormtrooper.  

The bike unleashed another torrent of blaster fire, and one bolt found its mark near the tail fin. The bike jolted, throwing Kanan forward against Hera.

“Hera, give me some good news?” There was smoke coming up off the side of the bike, which shuddered and and shook when Hera tried to turn it. He was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to do that.

“The left stabilizer’s hit. I can bank, or I can can go fast, but I can’t do both.” Another shot missed them by an inch. This trooper was a better shot than most. He’d already come too close, and if Hera couldn’t dodge….

Kanan knew what he had to do. He turned and jumped off the side of the bike, rolling as he landed on the ground. 

“Kanan!” Hera slowed the bike down and started to turn it around.

“I got this,” he said. An odd feeling of calm, of absolute determination spread through him. “Head to the rendezvous point. I’ll meet you there.”

“If you’re sure….” She looked at him, then looked down the road, seeming to be in the midst of some internal argument. Kanan grunted, impatience warring with his determination. They didn’t have time for this.  _ She _ didn’t have time for this.

“I’ll catch up. Now go!”

She nodded at him. “I’ll keep the engines warm for you.”

The grin he gave her felt tight around the edges, but it seemed to reassure her. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

She turned the bike back around and sped off, a trail of smoke marking her path behind her. Now he could focus his sole attention on the bike barrelling straight down the street toward him. And the closer he came, the more calm seeped into Kanan’s bones. He planted his feet on the ground and sank his knees into a deep, strong stance. 

_ A good stance is the first foundation of combat _ , Master Bilaba’s voice intoned at him from so long ago. He’d learned that was as true of firing a blaster as it was wielding a lightsaber.

Kanan breathed in, a deep, centering breath that brought the world around him into sharp focus. He could sense the street below his feet, each crack and cranny in the pavement. He could feel the energy if the people around him, most staying wisely hidden from the blaster fire and high speed chase action. His senses widened, expanded, and the world seemed to slow down around him. Hera was behind him, speeding away on her stolen bike, yet somehow right next to him at the same time. The trooper on the bike sped straight toward him, firing off shots from his blaster. They flew toward him in straight, unmoving lines. Kanan simply moved before they could touch him.

He raised his blaster, the weight of it comforting in his grip. The trooper, the speeder, himself, even his blaster, it was all just energy woven together within the fabric of reality. Energy he could see, hear, smell, and touch. There was no feeling of urgency, no malice or panic. Just a purpose to fulfill and the knowledge of how to do it.  

He stared down the barrel of his blaster, lined its sights up with the oncoming speeder…

He breathed out.

And squeezed, letting a bolt fly that found its mark on the bike’s on-board blaster. The energy cell ruptured, causing a small explosion that disintegrated the bike’s nose. Suddenly overbalance, the bike flipped over and crashed into the ground, taking its rider with it.

Kanan felt a raft of hot air against his face and something scratch his cheek as pieces of the bike skittered flew through the air. That...had been close, he realized, suddenly feeling a drip of sweat down his brow.  _ Too _ close.

Aware that several faces had peeked out to stare in awe at the explosion, Kanan quickly ducked down the nearest alley. There was no need to stick around here. He had to make the rendezvous with Hera.

On foot, and avoiding the sudden increase in Imperial patrols, it took him longer than he would have liked. When he got to the old spaceport, Hera was pacing back and forth in front of the Phantom with her arms clasped behind her back, a bacta patch wrapped over her right shoulder. Crale sat nervously on a nearby crate, fiddling with a small cube in his hands.

“Miss me? ‘Cause those bucketheads sure did,” he said. It was a terrible line, even for him, but too good an opportunity to pass up. Hera’s head whipped toward him and her eyes lit up. Even Crale look relieved to see him as he pushed himself up from his seat.

“You sure took your time getting here,” she responded, placing a hand on her hip and giving him an exaggerated scowl.

“I decided to take the scenic route.” He grinned at her, feeling a heady mixture of adrenaline and relief now that this job seemed all over but for the formalities. 

“Catching all the tourist spots in Eriadu City?”

Kanan’s snappy retort was cut shot when Chopper rolled down the Phantom’s ramp, waving his utility arms imperiously.

“Your droid friend is right,” Crale said, a note of exasperation in his voice. “The Imperials could show up at any moment. We need to get moving.” He cast a look at the both of them, rolled his eyes, and went up the ramp. 

“They have a point.” Hera shrugged and went after him, but Kanan caught her arm before she went far.

“You think they tagged us?”

Hera shook her head, her lekku swaying behind her with the motion. “They were after Crale, and the ones who chased after us aren’t in any condition to tell anyone what they saw thanks to you.”

“I try. You were no slouch yourself.” Kanan shrugged in what he thought was a pretty good imitation of modesty. He followed her on to the shuttle. Crale was already strapping himself in to one of the Phantom’s swing-down seats in the back compartment while Chopper grumbled noisily about the delays.

“No, Chop, we weren’t going to leave Kanan behind,” Hera told the droid when he directed a particularly acerbic comment at her. The engines were already warmed up, so once Hera was strapped into her seat, they were able to take off. Kanan took a position behind her in the cramped cockpit, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Eriadu City become smaller and smaller and eventually fall away as they entered the upper atmosphere. 

“About the comlink callsigns—” She said, once they were safely in orbit and far, far away from the menacing Star Destroyer that hovered over the city.

“Hera….”

“Think about it. We’ll probably need them. You, me, Chop, and who knows if we might pick up new crew in the future?”

“Again with the  _ we _ thing.” Kanan shook his head. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of bringing Crale on.”

“Him? No. I don’t think he’s suited for this kind of life. Like Zaluna,” she said with a fond smile. 

“She at least had a sense of humor.” Kanan found himself wondering how the Sullustan woman was doing these days, ever since her decision to live a quiet life after the terrible things that happened on Gorse. 

“Not everyone can actively fight, but sometimes all it takes is a willingness to question the Empire, like Crale did.” She glanced thoughtfully at her instrument console and pulled off her flight gloves. “But facing down a speeder bike on foot, well that isn’t bad either.”

“Like I said, I try.” Taking on the speeder bike, he had to admit that had worked out well. But he wasn’t some heroic freedom fighter and he knew it. It was just a job. Sometimes he couldn’t even figure out  _ why _ he’d agreed to take on this fight, except that Hera had asked and he hadn’t been able to think of a good reason to say no at the time.

“You scraped your cheek. Want to get a bacta patch for that?” She swiveled her seat toward him and leaned in to brush her fingers over the scratch on his cheek. The simple touch threw a wrench in his gut. For just one moment his world narrowed to that tiny point of contact between them. Everything else—Crale, the Imperials—everything just fell away until there was only the brush of her fingers and two wide, green eyes that looked up at him in laughter, in trust.

Kanan wrenched himself away, a knee-jerk reaction against the casual intimacy of the gesture. 

“It’s nothing, just a scratch,” he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat at the confused look on her face. There was a time he would have thought nothing of it, back when he’d first signed on with her. When had that changed?  “Think that last speeder was trying to give me a parting gift.” He rubbed at the scratch with his knuckles and it stung. Funny how it didn’t do that when she touched it.

“If you say so.” Hera’s expression was closed off. Kanan longed for some snappy comeback to break through the awkward tension between them, but for once he had nothing.

It really was dangerous, this business of getting close.

“So, uh. What’ll you do with Crale’s intel?” He asked. 

“I’ll see if it checks out, and if it does I’ll pass it along. Maybe someone can do something useful with it.” She turned back to her instrument console. “Speaking of him, I should go talk to him. It looks like we weren’t followed. You can handle the jump the hyperspeed.” 

She unstrapped and went back to the back compartment. Kanan slipped into her still-warm seat and tried to focus on the hyperspeed calculations, but something at the back of his mind kept picking at his thoughts.

Why was he bothered so much by just a little gesture of familiarity?

He finally identified the growing feeling that gnawed on his insides. It was a pit within him, a bottomless trench that grew wider the longer he stayed on with her. Eventually he knew he’d fall in, and he didn't think he’d ever get out. 

He needed to leave. He needed to get out before that happened. That was all there was too it. She already knew he’d been keeping one foot out the door since the beginning, that he never stayed in place for long, so he could just walk away.

Couldn’t he?

But then he thought about the way her eyes lit up when he made it back, the warm curve of her lips when she smiled. Her infectious sense of purpose, and the simple joy of trying to make a difference that she brought out in him. He was happier than he had been in a very long time, and that made him want to run. Experience told him it wouldn’t last, that it would come crashing down and leave him worse off than before. 

Kanan pinched the bridge of his nose.

Maybe...maybe he could stay. A little bit longer. 

Just a bit.

He punched in the hyperspeed calculations, engaged the drive, and watched the stars over Eriadu elongate and shift to blue. His arrangement with Hera couldn’t last forever, but he could try and enjoy it before it all went south.

_ Two more. Two more jobs then I’m out _ .

**Author's Note:**

> This got way longer than I intended, but it was so much fun to write these two.
> 
> This fic is on [tumblr](https://laelior.tumblr.com/post/173068273042/familiarity), too!


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